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Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



PR 4518 5 I 

.C16 ^ 

M62 

Copy 1 




COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY HAROLD ROORBACK 



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MIRIAM'S CRIME 

A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS 
H. T. CRAVEN 



New American Edition, Correctly Reprinted from the 
Original Authorized Acting Edition, with the Original 
Casts of the Characters, Argument of the Play, 
Time of Representation, Description of the 
Costumes, Scene and Property Plots, Dia- 
grams of the Stage Settings, Sides of 
Entrance and Exit, Relativ^e Posi- 
tionsof the Performers, Expla- 
nation OF THE Stage Direc- 
tions, etc., and all of 
THE Stage Business. 



Copyright, 1890, by Harold Roorbach, 





NEW YORK 

HAROLD ROORBACH 

PUBLISHER 



^ 






^ ,^^ 



V 




MIRIAM'S CRIME. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



• Royal Strand Theatre^ 
London, 
Oct. gth, iSdj. 
HUFFIN {a Lawyer) Mr. H. J. Turner. 

Bernard Reynolds Mr. Parselle. 

Biles (« Lawyer's Clerk) Mr. George Honey. 

ScuMLEY (from the Colonies) Mr, Belford. 

Daniel (a Servant) Mr. Danvers. 

Miriam West Miss Kate Saville. 

Mrs. Raby (a lodi^ing-house keeper) Mrs. Manders. 



Olympic Theatre^ 

A^eiu York, 
Sept. sth, J864. 
Mr. Hind. 
Mr. Ringgold. 

Holston. 

Stoddart. 

Parsloe. 
Miss Irving. 
Miss Harris. 



Mr. 
Mr. 
Mr. 



Time of Representation — Two Hours. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Miriam West is the protegee of Mrs. Wilson, a rich widow, who had 
taken her in as an orphan, brought her up and educated her. It had long 
been a favorite idea with the elder lady that her nephew and heirat-law, 
Bernard Reynolds, should marry Miriam who secretly loves him 
though her affection is unreturned. Imagining a mutual attachment 
between the two young people, one year before, Mrs. Wilson had made a 
will bequeathing her property to Bernard. During Mrs. Wilson's last 
illness, Miriam is surprised by a visit from a stranger, Clarkson Biles, 
who, after introducing himself as the clerk of Mrs. Wilson's legal agent' 





MIRIAM'S CRIME. 








Act III. 








Corridor Ba eking 




[OiaJr 


Trujik 


Fire -Place 


Chat \ 


WiodoH' 


W'Me 


o 

Arm ■ Chair 


Chat^ \ 



SCENE PLOT. 

Acts I and II. — Drawing-room boxed in 3 c, backed with corridor 
drop in 4 G. Doors c. in flat and r. 2 e. Window l, 3 e. Fire-place, 
with fire, L. i E. Chairs up R., R. C. and l. c. Table up R. Sofa down 
R. Ottoman c. Escritoire L. Picture of a young lady (Miriam) on 
wall. Carpet down. 

Act III. — Plain chamber boxed in 30., backed with corridor drop in 
4 G. Fire-place C, and door L. C. in flat. Window r. 2 e., with backing 
to show roofs of opposite houses. Table down r. Sofa down L. Arm- 
chair c. Trunk up R. Chairs about stage. 

STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

In observing, the player is supposed to face the audience. R. means 
right ; L., left ; c, centre ; R. C, right of centre ; L. c, left of centre ; D. F., 
door in the flat or back scene ; R. f., right side of the flat ; L. F., left side 
of the flat; R. D., right door; L. D., left door; c. D., centre door; i e., 
first entrance ; 2 v., second entrance ; u. E., upper entrance ; i, 2 or 3 
G., first, second or third grooves; UP STAGE, towards the back; DOWN 
STAGE, towards the footlights. 



R. 



R. C. 



C. 



L. C. 



L. 



Note. — The text of this play is correctly reprinted from the original 
authorized acting edition, without change. The introduction has been 
carefully prepared by an expert, and is the only part of this book protected 
by copyright. 




MIRIAM'S CRIME. 



ACT 1. 

Scene. — A handsomely furnished apartment— fireplace and good 
fire, L.; large door, c. ; and door R. 2 E.; window, l. 3 e. ; 
ladys escritoire, l.; table, r. ; chairs, ottoman, c; on the wall 
hangs the portrait of a young lady (Miriam). 

As the curtain rises, a double knock heard— pause — enter Mr. Huf- 
FiN, C.from h., following Daniel {a servant in livery). 

Huff. You're a new servant, I see. Do you know me? 

Dan. Sure, in coorse, I know ye well. 

Huff, {crosses to R. C.) What's my name ? 

Dan. (l., back) I disremember that I ever heard it, sir. 

Huff, (r.) Did you ever see me before? 

Dan. I can't say that I have. 

HufT. Then how can you know me? You're Irish, are you not ? 

Dan. No, sir ; but I had the misfortin to live in an Irish family, 
and I tuk the brogue as childer take the maysles. 

Huff. I never saw you before — how long have you lived here ? 

Dan. Jest a fortnight exactly, barrin' six days. 

Huff. Eight days in fact. What's become of the other man, 
Davis? 

Dan. [coming down, l.) Well, sir, I'm tould he's married the 
cook and gone off to Australy. I'm here as a substitute, till thev 
find some fellow wid a strong recommendation ; but I'll be thinkin' 
I fit the place like a bung in a whiskey keg, and there's no doubt iU 
all but I'll be the man to hould the situation in spite of *em all. 

Huff. But you're Irish — don't deny it, sir ; you're Irish. Now 
look here ; my name is Huffin. 

Dan, Guffin ? 

Huff. Huffin, fellow, I am Mrs. Wilson's solicitor, and what is 
more, an old friend of hers. How is she this morning ? 



8 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Dan. She's aslape ; and the doctor who was here awhile agone, 
says the danger's over. 

Huff. I'm glad to hear it ; she has had a severe attack. Where 
is Miss West ? 

Dan. She's been sittin' up all night wid Mrs. Wilson, an* I'll be 
guessin' she's gone to lie down too. 

Huff. Well ; don't disturb them. 

Dan. I don't mane to. 

Huff. I'm at home. 

Dan. Ye mane ye' re goin' home. 

Huff. I mean what 1 say, sir — I'm at home ; that is, I can wait 
and make myself at home till Miss West comes down ; and until 
she wakes I may be of service in receiving any one who may call. 
By-the-bye, who is that fellow sitting in the hall? 

Dan. Don't know in the laste, sir. 

Huff. What does he want ? 

Dan. He wanted to see Mrs. Wilson. 

HufT. But you know that no stranger can see her in her present 
state. 

Dan. So I tould him : then he said he'd wait till she was awake 
and send up a message. 

Huff. Dear me ; you should never leave a man like that in the 
hall. There's my great coat there too ! — go and look after it, and 
if he hasn't already walked off with it bring him here to me. /'// 
see him. 

Dan. I'll do that same, sir. Exit, C. a7id L. 

Huff. So, so! My good friend Mrs. Wilson is once more out of 
danger. I never knew any one have so many warnings. I have 
known her for — let me see — eleven years, and during the whole 
of that time she has been subject to these alarming crises. She 
vi^as remarkably fortunate to meet with so excellent a companion 
as Miss West. 

Enter Daniel, c. from l. followed by Scumley, a middle-aged 
man, of disreputable appearance, in somewhat of a seaman s 
costume. 

Dan. The gentleman — I mane the man, sir, who's below. 

Exit, C. D. 
HufT. (l., with back to fire) Well, sir? 
Scum, (c.) Well! 
HufT. What have you got to say ? 

Scum. What \\-a.\^ you to say ; you sent for me, didn't you ? 
Huff. Why are you waiting here ? 
Scum. To see Mrs. Wilson. 
Huff. What is your business ? 
Scum. PiXQ. you Mrs. Wilson? 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 9 

Huff. You're an impudent fellow. Mrs. Wilson is very ill, and 
there is no likelihood of your seeing her. 

Scum. But I've come some distance. 

Huff. Pooh ! what distance .'' 

Scum. Twenty thousand miles. 

Huff. Eh.? 

Scum. Twenty thousand miles. 

Huff. Oh, then you may go back again. 

Scum. Perhaps you'll fork out my passage money ? 

Huff. You'd better call me a fool at once. Look here, my fine 
fellow ; from your style and figure, I can reckon you up in a few 
words; you've come for an answer to some begging letter ; now, I 
take upon myself to say you'll get nothing. 

Scum. That's the way you reckon up, is it? [siiiinjr, c.) Now I'll 
reckon you up. You're some done-up old adventurer on the look- 
out for a rich widow, and I take upon myself to say — you won't get 
her. 

Huff. Why, you — you — you — I'll tell you who I am ; I'm a 
solicitor, and — [looking through window l. 3E.) I can refer you for 
the truth of this to that upright gentleman in blue over the 
way. 

Scum. A peeler? 

Huff. As you say, a peeler. 

Scum. Don't wish to mix with your gentlemanly friends: I wish 
you a good day. Exit, c. and L. 

Huff, [following to the door mid calling) Paddy, show this fellow 
out, and d'ye hear? keep an eye on my great coat in the hall. 
[coming down) An impudent rascal — looks more hke a ticket-of- 
leave bird than anything else. The idea of calling me an — an 
adventurer, looking out for — confound his impudence I 

Enter Miriam ^'E.'S,!: door r. 2. e. 

Miriam, Mr. Hufifin. 

Huff. Miss West, how d'ye do? [shaking hands) I received your 
note apprising me of the severe illness of our friend, Mrs. Wil- 
son ; but I am delighted to hear she is better. 

Miriam. I hope she is ; I earnestly hope so. 

Huff. No doubt you do ; she has been a good friend to you. 

Miriam. A mother, sir ; for I cannot imagine a mother's care to 
exceed her's — and I had no claim on her. She took me as you 
know, an orphan into her house, to bring me up as a domestic, 
and promoted me to be her companion. 

Huff. Because you deserved it, my child ; the education which 
she bestowed upon you, you took readily, and you devoted your 
youth to the incessant tending of an invalid. If she has been kind, 
you have always the gratifying consciousness of deserving it. 



lO MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Miriam. I trust I have ; but oh, Mr. Huffin, if she should die 
what is to become of me ? I haven't another friend in the 
world. 

Huff. Sit down, child, [they sit) Do you know that what you 
allude to has just occurred to me, and I think it my duty to speak 
to her on the subject ? Some provision ought to be made for you 
in her will. 

Miriam. I don't mean that ; don't think so meanly of me, sir ; 
that never entered my mind ; I have no claim on her, besides, my 
vanity tells me I can earn a hving. What I would have said is, 
that in hers I shall lose the only heart that can feel for me, and we 
all need 07ie to sympathize with. • 

Huff. So we do, so we do ; and you ought to have a husband. 

Miriam. Pray, sir, don't jest at such a time. 

Huff. My dear, I'm not jesting ; I'm one of those rare birds, a 
plain blunt lawyer — many think that an anomaly, I never found it 
so. I have a maxim that a man may be a sound jurist and yet 
speak his mind and the truth ; I'm a father, moreover — a widower, 
and I say the best protector for you would be a husband. This 
introduces a few more words which I think necessary. It was for 
some time a favorite idea of Mrs. Wilson that you should marry 
her nephew Bernard. 

Miriam. Cease, I beg. 

HuflF. Certainly not, because I want to explain the conduct of 
the poor invalid upstairs. Imagining that Bernard loved you, she 
felt assured of shortly seeing you united, and therefore when I 
drew out her will a year ago, everything, without exception, was 
bequeathed to him; in fact, the will itself was really needless, 
since Bernard being her nearest, nay, her 07ily relative, is heir-at- 
law. And now having so far betrayed professional confidence, I 
must tell you another secret, /always strongly opposed her idea 
of a union between you and Bernard. 

Miriam, [with emotion) You — you were right, sir. I never was 
— worthy of him. 

Huff. He never was worthy of you ; he's a scamp. 

Miriam. No, Mr. Huffin, no. His accomplishments, and the 
frankness of his nature may have betrayed him into indiscretions ; 
but he has a noble heart. 

Huff. Noble fiddlestick ! he's an idle spendthrift, and but for 
the influence which I have exercised over his aunt, on whom he is 
wholly dependent, his " noble heart " would in all probabiHty, by 
this time have ruined her. And yet I like the dog, after all — can't 
help it; he, like you, is an orphan; but he's not the partner for 
you. 

Miriam, [dejectedly) No, 

Huff. My daughter Judith is the wife for hi7n : a woman of 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. II 

masculine resolve — born to govern — to subdue ; but you — he'd 
break your heart in a month. 

Miriam. Pray sir, speak no more of it. 

Huff. I don't mean to do so ; I've spoken my mind and I've 
done with it. 

Enter DANIEL, C. Tt./rom R. 

Daniel. The nurse-woman says Misses is awake now, sir, and 
will see you if you wish it. 

Huff. I'll come, (exit Daniel, c. and l. — aside to Miriam) I'll 
try and mention that little matter — some provision. 

Exit, c. and R. 

Miriam. She imagined that Bernard loved me ! I thought so 
once, and felt that in permitting it I deeply wronged him, even 
when his aunt had told me of her approval. He has seldom been 
here of late ; am I to think that Mr. Hufiftn's wise opposition has 
been the cause of this? Has he been enforced to renounce his 
regard .'* If so he has not suffered more than I have ; but 'tis right ! 
'tis right! Have I, a poor dependent orphan, pretensions to share 
with him — the only relative of my benefactress, the fortune which 
must be his? 

Re-enter Daniel, c. from L. showing in Clarkson Biles. 

Daniel. A gentleman as wants to spake to ye privately all alone 
by yourself, miss. Exit, c. and l. 

Biles, (r.) Miss West — I've once or twice had the pleasure of 
seeing you two or three times. May I venture to ask after your 
health ? Health's a blessing ; we ought to be thankful for health. 

Miriam, (l.) Indeed, sir, I don't remember you. 

Biles. You remember Mr. Scrivener ? 

Miriam. Scrivener — no ; unless he was concerned in the pur- 
chase of some house property for Mrs. Wilson. 

Biles. The same ; a lawyer residing at Walworth. I was his 
clerk — his managing clerk. 

Miriam. Possibly. 

Biles. You were out of town the last time Mr. Scrivener and I 
had business with Mrs. Wilson. You and I are alive. We've 
much to be thankful for. Poor Scrivener, he's dead. 

Miriam. Indeed ? 

Biles. May I sit down and tell you the melancholy history ? 
Thank you ! [^sits) Two months ago his premises were burned to 
the ground 

Miriam. Really ! 

Biles. He was uninsured, and it ruined him. I, at the risk of 
my life, for my eyebrows were on fire, saved a deed box or two, 
which I conveyed for safety to my lodgings; all the rest of his 



12 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

papers were consumed ; but, I am happy to inform you that all 
Mrs. Wilson's leases were in her own possession. 

Miriam. That was fortunate, sir. 

Biles. Most fortunate for her ; she has much to be thankful for. 
However, poor Scrivener took the affair to heart, and, being a 
man of weak mind, died five weeks ago. 

Miriam. I am sorry for his family. 

Biles. He had no family. 

Miriam. I'm glad of that. 

Biles. Yes, he has much to be thankful for. Miss West, I have 
now an idea of starting in practice as an agent on my own 
account. 

Miriam. No doubt you would secure much of your late master's 
connection. 

Biles. I'd try — I'd try. I feel the elements of success strong 
within me ; but. Miss West, it depends entirely upon you, whether 
I make up my mind to do this, or embark to-morrow for Queens- 
land. 

Miriam. On me ? 

Biles. Oviyou. 

Miriam. I am without money, sir ; if you have counted on my 
assistance in that. 

Biles. I know it, my dear young lady — I know it. You are of 
humble birth — so am I ; you commenced as a menial — so did I. 
We have much to be thankful for. 

Miriam. Sir ! 

Biles. Don't be offended ; I am only explaining the reason 
which has led me to take the present step. 

Miriam. Pray, sir, explain your meaning and spare my time, 
which, through the illness of Mrs. Wilson, is more than usually 
valuable. 

Biles. How long have I been in this room ? 

Miriam. Some ten minutes. Pray proceed, sir. 

Biles. Ten minutes ? Oh, it will seem too abrupt — too sudden — 
scarcely dehcate. 

Miriam. Then sir, despairing of understanding you, allow me to 
wish you good day. [rising arid going, Y..) 

Biles. You urge me to it, and I'm'thankful. Miss, it isn't much 
in the way of an articled clerk ; but an articled clerk has emotions 
— I say a clerk has emotions — in corporal sufferings he feels as 
great a pang as the uneasy head that wears a crown, as the 
immortal bard has it. Miss West, I love you. 

Miriam. Sir, you are surely out of your senses ! 

Biles. I mean honorably ; falsehood sits not on Biles's brow. Do 
you think me worthy of your affecUon ? Will you become the 
partner of my heart — my prospects — and my name? My name's 
Biles. 



MIRIA M 'S CRIME, 1 3 

Miriam. Preposterous ! 

Biles. There is nothing preposterous save in the abruptness of 
the proposal — my devotion is pure. 

Miriam. Ridiculous ! 

^iles. You think so? Well, put it in a business way : a girl — • 
that is, a young lady who is dependent, naturally aims at an eligi- 
ble match. Now you might do worse than accept a professional 
man, and a man of talent. I have talent. Understand me ; I'm a 
man to rise — there's something of the balloon about me. 

Miriam. To end this insulting interview, sir, allow me to request 
you to withdraw. 

Biles. I'm not a man of family ; but no man of family would 
think of uniting himself to a young woman risen from 

Miriam. Go, sir ! 

Biles. That's very like being turned out. I'm scorned, am I ? 
I've much to be thankful for. Then I'm off to Queensland early 
to-morrow. Think again. 

Miriam. Will you force me to ring for assistance ? 

Biles. Not at all — I'll go. But you must understand. Miss 
West, I consider I have paid you a great compliment ; the offer 
of marriage from a professional man to a mere promoted domestic 
is a compliment ; and, with that remark, you see the last of Clark- 
son Biles, [as Biles is boiving out c. and l., he bitnips against Ber- 
nard, yjho enters) 

Bernard. All right — don't apologize. 

Biles. I beg your pardon if I did. 

Exit, c, a7id'L. — Miriam crosses to L. 

Bernard, (r.) That's a queer-looking fish; has be been leaving 
you the first number of an illustrated work, and "call again to- 
morrow? " Miriam, I'm glad to hear poor old aunty is better. 

Miriam, (l.) I hope so. Dr. Lambton says that if there is no 
relapse to-day, she may be considered out of danger. 

Bernard. I hope she'll recover suddenly; I want her assistance ; 
for though the dear old soul always lectures me on my extrava- 
gance, she never denies me. 

Miriam. Well, but Bernard, our only thought is now for her 
recovery. 

Bernard. Yes ; I should like to confine my thoughts to that ; but 
some courageous fellows who have ventured to give me credit, 
won't let me ; yet it makes me feel very like a selfish rascal. 

Miriam. Bernard ; you ? 

Bernard. Don't take me too literally ; I've got my bright side, 
for though I know that I shall inherit all the old duchess has, 
whether she makes a will or dies intestate, yet I would a thousand 
times rather she lived for many years and doled me out an allow- 
ance than place me in comparative opulence by her death ; she 
has never been hard upon my waywardness but once — only once. 



14 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Miriam. Hard upon you, Bernard ? so much as she loves you ? 

Bernard. Yes, but she touched me on a tender point ; I never 
found her so obstinate before, and that is the reason I have not 
been here much lately. 

Miriam. You'll pardon me, Bernard, won't you ? but I have 
thought that unkind — you, the only relative she has in the world. 

Bernard. You're a good sympathizing little creature, and I've a 
great mind to tell you all about it. 

Miriam. About what? 

Bernard. I think I ought to tell you, for you have too much good 
sense to allow it to hurt your feelings. Shall I tell you ? 

Miriam. If it will afford you pleasure. 

Bernard. Pleasure, no! it's a deuced unpleasant subject, but it 
will ease my mind, for I have been in great doubt whether I have 
behaved well to you, but if, when you know all, you say I have, 
why then I shall feel happier ; sit down, I'll condense, {they sit — 
Bernard, r, c, Miriam, l. c.) Mind, it's a delicate subject as 
regards you and me ; but we are both strong-minded, giants of 
intellect, superior to the slaves of mere etiquette. Now first of all, 
allow me to ask if I have ever made myself too agreeable to you ? 

Miriam. Your quesdon puzzles me. 

Bernard. Of course it does ; but you m.ust have perceived, Mirry, 
that I admired you ? 

Miriam. I — I sometimes thought so. 

Bernard. No doubt about it ; I fancied you were rather reserved 
and cold, but I was resolved to overcome it. I hked your society, 
it relieved the monotony of tete-a-tetes with my dear old aunt, so 
I tried to pay you as much attention as possible. Ha, ha, ha ! 
only fancy, the dear foolish old soul set it down in her own mind 
that I — ha, ha ! — that I was in love with you. 

Miriam. Did — did she tell you so ? 

Bernard. That she did. 

Miriam. And forbade our meeting ? 

Bernard. Worse, insisted that I should at once make you my 
wife ; but her arguments were the funniest I ever heard ; you'll 
laugh, I know you will. She declared I was a reckless, extrava- 
gant dog, who would never do any good in the world without a 
guardian angel always at my elbow to rescue me from folly ; and 
you were that guardian angel. In other words, I am a naughty 
boy, and you were to be my nurse — a good joke, wasn't it? 

Miriam, [in a trembling voice, but with an effort atfinnness) Yes, 
yes — a joke ; it was cruel of her to hint a choice of me, a poor 
friendless dependent, whose office was, as it should be, to submit 
to gallantries for the pastime of another, who forgot that hisexperi- 
ments were on a girl ignorant of the practices of the world, and 
who might have given them a deeper interpretation. 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. \% 

Bernard. But you didn't, Mirry, did you ? tell nic, my dear girl, 
did you ? 

Miriam. Oh, Bernard, make your mind easy ; 1 know my posi- 
tion, I 

Bernard. That's enough ! my nonsense had no injurious effect — 
pheu ! there's a weight off my mind, yet I'm sorry I went so far as 
I did, but I was a mere boy then — that's five months ago — 
maturity has brought wisdom ; but to my tale. I frankly told aunt 
that I Tvas in love. 

Miriam. Bernard ! 

Bernard. With another. That caused a commotion, but when I 
told her it was with Ellen Raby 

Miriam. Raby ? 

Bernard. Who instructed you in music, the old lady blew a 
hurricane. " What ! degrade myself by marrying a deep, design- 
ing girl — the daughter of a lodging-house keeper ! " She said that. 
I couldn't stand that you know. I love Ellen, and when one 
loves, one can't hear things said that touch us to the quick — can 
one ? 

Miriam. Some are obliged. 

Bernard. She's a girl that any one might love. Why, do you 
know — now laugh at this — do you know that old Huffin had fallen 
in love, through seeing her here ; he wrote her a note — she 
returned him an evasive answer. I cut him out, but he doesn't 
know that yet. Ha, ha ! — poor old Huffin ! 

Miriam, [abstractedly) Miss Raby ! 

Bernard. I swore to aunty that she, and none but she should be 
my wife. The old lady said it was an infatuation that would 
shortly expire. At last, I perceived that aunty really was making 
herself ill, and I yielded so far as to promise that I would not 
marry Ellen while aunty lived. Sdll I don't wish the old lady 
dead, for I hope, with your assistance, to get her to set aside this 
harsh decree. 

Miriam. Mine I 

Bernard. Yours. You have great influence over my aunt, and, 
besides, she acted on the supposition that I had gained youraff"ec- 
tions. Now you've only got to set her right on this point — tell her 
you don't care a button about me — in fact, tell the truth. 

Miriam. Yes — the truth. 

Bernard. Think of me bathed in tears of joy— think of my dear 
Ellen throwing herself at your feet in a transport of gratitude — 
think of our children, yet unborn, lisping the name of the pioneer 
of the happiness of the authors of their being 

Enter HuFFiN, C. from R. 

HufT. (R.) Ah, Berny. my lad — glad to see you. 



1 6 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Bernard, (c.) Same to you. Lord, how sleek and well you look. 
The world is a macadamized road for you, my favored one ; you 
nestle in the well-feathered nest, and show a benignant frontispiece 
to the world — whilst 1, studying the difficult problem of how to 
make both ends meet, smile with an aching heart. Well, so much 
the more merit to me. 

Huff. My dear boy, whatever I possess, I earned ; d'ye under- 
stand ? — earned it — and, therefore, 1 enjoy it with a gusto unknown 
to you: there's energy about me. I'm one of the old school, but 
still I advance with the rest of the world. 

Bernard. I see, you're a complete _/?/<?<?/' the Times. 

Huff. Well, 1 hope you'll never have to r<?;^^r to me. I recom- 
mend you not to expect me to recommend you — certainly not as a 
painter. You profess to be an artist — now look at that daub ! 
{pointing to the portrait of Miv.\ am) That effigy of my little friend 
Miriam, who might have inspired a sign painter. Did one ever 
see such a thing? Look at the — in fact — the tout ensembie. You've 
wronged her, sir — wronged her. 

Bernard. Who ever heard of a lawyer being an art critic ? Ne 
sutor ultra crepidavi 

Huff. " The cobbler shouldn't go beyond his last." It's evident 
that ought to be your last, [pointing to picture) But a truce to jest. 
[crossing I.. C.) Miriam, don't look so pale and sad. Mrs. Wilson 
is certainly better ; but I have had no opportunity yet of speaking 
to her on the subject proposed. 

Miriam, (l.) Pray do not, sir; I don't wish it. 

Huff. (l. c.) Oh! but I must. I'll tell Berny ; I do nothing 
under-handed, though I ajn a lawyer ; I'm sure he'll see the justice 
of it. Your aunt ought to make some little provision in her will 
for this child — don't you think so? 

Bernard, (r.) Undoubtedly ; for though I will take deuced good 
care she shall never want a home, yet she ought to be independent 
of me. I judge by my own feelings. I'd sooner be smothered in 
liabilities, than indebted to another for a gift which ought to have 
been mine by right. That's 7ny spirit ! 

Miriam. Let me beg of you to avoid this subject at such a time. 

Huff. My dear, this is the time. Though my friend is now bet- 
ter, yet hers being a heart disease, her life is never safe for an 
hour. Let us go to her, Bernard, and see if she is now able to 
converse, [to Miriam) Cheer up, Httle one ; you must not look so 
depressed. Exit 2vith Bernard, c. and r. 

Miriam. [i7t a burst of ejnotion) The dream is over — over! He 
loves me not ! How have I persuaded myself that it could not — 
should not be ; and yet now that I know the justness of my reason- 
ing, I am wicked enough to feel wronged. My heart has deceived 
my conscience, and is humbled at the discovery of its own false- 
hood ; but only to myself is known the humiliating truth — I love 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 1 7 

him ! I would have died for him ! I know it now that I am 
scorned — now he has confessed that I was a toy to him ; but my 
secret he — he knows it not — nor ever shall ! that pain — that shame 
at least is spared me. [thnm's herself on sofa) Oh, 1 was mad — 
mad to dream it! but my life was so dreary; and his presence 
seemed like a spring sun, which lifted me from torpor to life. He 
will be happy with another ; happy, there's comfort in that. 
{weeping) 

Re-enter Huffin, Q. from R. 

Huff. (;■« agitation) My dear Miss West, that poor lady is 
evidently far from so improving as we thought. I see you are in 
tears, and now I fear you have cause ; she has had another severe 
attack : all we can understand from her is that she wishes to 
speak to you, and alone. 

Miriam. (L. ) Oh, sir, do you — do you think she is in danger? 
Are our hopes destroyed? 1 will go to her— my kind, my only 
friend ! [ going c.) 

Huff. Ask Bernard to step down to me immediately, (exit 
Miriam, c. andK.) It is my impression my dear friend is not destined 
to see another day dawn. Dear me — dear me ! nothing can be 
done in the way of sending for any one ; for she is in the singular 
position of having but one relative — her nephew ; besides myself, 
I don't think she had even a friend. 

Enter Bernard, c. from r. 

Bernard, your aunt is very bad. 

Bernard. (C.) I fear so. 

HufiF. (l.) The doctor should be brought without a moment's 
delay. 

Bernard. You're right. My poor aunt! I will go myself. 

Huff. Do so, my dear boy. Lambton is the nearest ; and if he 
is from home, Bainbridge — a man of repute— lives four doors from 
him. 

Bernard. I will fly, and bring what medical assistance I can, 
though I fear it is in vain. Exit c. and \.. 

Huff. It has been my task to attend many death-beds ; and it's 
a remarkable thing that most of the poor creatures have left some- 
thing to be done which disturbs their last moments ; the invalid 
above is evidently troubled about some affair which she wishes 
Miriam to undertake. 

Re-enter Miriam, hastily, c. from r. 

Miriam. Mr. Huffin, pray remain with Mrs. Wilson for a few 
minutes, till I can return to her. Oh, sir, I fear the worst. 



1 8 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Huff. To say truth, so do I. Bernard is gone for the physician, 
and I am sure will return directly. Exit, C. and R. 

Miriam, [sinks doiun on a seat and bursts into tears) To love and 
part — the destiny of life ! I know I am about to lose the only one 
on earth by whom I am loved. I shall be cast back into the 
friendless state in which she found me — oh, self! self! self! all 
self! — her sufferings and awful moments are mingled in my mind 
with selfish plaints ; I am forgetting her request — this key — this 
key which she drew from under her pillow opens yonder desk. I 
am to destroy a packet of letters instantly ; she does not wish 
them seen when she is gone, [opens the escritoire) Here is one — 
no, she said a packet with colonial post marks, [with surprise) 
This one is addressed to 7ne, and her handwriting, [opens tetter) 
What can it be ? [reads) " My darling Miriam ; you will read this 
when I am no more, and it will be an explanation of the course 
which I have adopted in bequeathing all I die possessed of (with 
the exception of a small annuity for Bernard) to you." To me ! 
Tome! All to me ! [7'eads) "I once told you, my dear child, 
how my heart was set on a union between you and Bernard ; and 
I have taken this step in the hope that when I am gone, it will be 
the means of bringing you together. In saving him from an 
unwise match which he contemplates, you would also save him 
from ruin." All left to me! Oh, never, never! Did he not 
just now say he would die rather than be indebted to me for 
a gift which ought to have been his by right ? Is this the 
will? [takes out a parchmefitfroin the desk) " Last Will and Testa- 
ment of Elizabeth Wilson," yes. [opens it) " Two hundred per 
annum to Bernard Reynolds — residue in freeholds, leaseholds, and 
real property to Miriam West." No ! no ! this must not be ! forced 
to marry one whom he despises. Stay — did not Mr. Huffin say, if 
there was no will Bernard would inherit all ? This will is wrong 
— wrong, though well meant. This is my duty to him, and may 
heaven bless him though he loves me not. [pt/ts the will on the fire) 
There ; something tells me that the secret which those flames 
make patent to my own breast, will never rankle there in the shape 
of regret. I shall know that he will enjoy his own. [watching the 
flame) 'Tis ashes now — ashes! 'Tis done, and surely her spirit 
will approve my disobedience, [locks the desk) And this too must 
be destroyed, [casts the letter upon the fire) My lot — my pride shall 
be to earn what I require. Little will suffice. 

Enter Bernard, q. from l, 

Bernard. I have brought Dr. Lambton ; shall I take him 
instantly to my aunt? 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 19 

HuFFiN appears c from R. 

Huffin. Too late — too late ! Mrs. Wilson is no more! 

Miriam, overcome, falls into a <:/!^2/>-— Bernard runs to her assist- 
ance — Picture. 

CURTAIN. 



Twelve days are supposed to have elapsed. 



ACT II. 

Scene. — Same as Act I. The furniture rather differently arranged 
— papers, &*c., scattered about. 

HuFFiN a?id Bernard discoverd—Hi^YVi^ examining papers, l. 
c. — newspaper lying on the table, R., back. 

Huff, (l.) There; the search is over ; 'tis no use. Every nook 
— every corner in the house has now been examined, and there is 
no will. 

Bernard, (c.) Strange 1 and yet you say you drew out one a year 
ago ? Are you quite certain you did ? 

Huff. Certain? You'd belter call me a fool at once. Why, I 
was left sole executor ; and I need scarcely tell you that the will 
was entirely in your favor — entirely. 

Bernard. Well, Huffin. I have left it to you to examine the 
papers, and I am sure you have done so thoroughly. I suppose 
it only remains for me now to administer as heir-at-law ; and 
though the will must have been destroyed by my aunt, any legacy 
that was named as a recompense for the duties of executorship, I 
shall feel proud in placing to your account. 

Huff. Stop, stop ! In the first place you'll have to estabhsh 
your identity ; for having been born in the colonies 

Bernard. I may not be myself — pshaw ! there must be some 
easy clue to that fact ; you lawyers are always so fertile in suppo- 
sitious possibilities and actual six-and-eightpences. 

Huff. Bernard, my dear boy, I have now a painful — most pain- 
ful duty to perform. 

Bernard. What do you mean? 

Huff. In anticipation still of being able to find the will I have 
withheld somethmg which 



20 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Bernard. No mystery, old fellow. You don't mean to deny the 
fact that I am now my aunt's heir? 

Huff. Are you sure of it ? 

Bernard. Hang it ! I'm nephew, am I not? 

HufT. We have always supposed so ; but are you sure there is 
no other near relative ? 

Bernard. Quite. Mrs. Wilson had a brother and a sister. The 
sister was my mother. At nine years of age I was left an orphan. 

Huff. But the brother 

Bernard. Was a sailor, or something of that sort. He died when 
I was an infant — met, I imagine, some dreadful fate, for neither 
my parents nor my aunt would ever allude to the subject ; but I 
have often heard them remark on the singularity of our having no 
other relatives. 

Huff. Suppose your uncle is still living? 

Bernard. What? Is — is //^rt/ your secret ? 

Huff. No ; I don't know that he lives. 

Bernard. Then you're supposing for supposing's sake? 

Huff. You' d better call me a fool at once. He was hving eleven 
years ago. 

Bernard. Huffin, I desire you to tell me instantly what you know. 
Recollect that your words threaten me not with beggary alone, 
but with loss of liberty perhaps. I am in debt. 

Huff. That's nothing new to you. But a brother, after all, can 
but claim half if there is a nephew. 

Bernard. If there is a nephew. Well, there is a nephew ; the 
"if" only applies to the brother — get on. 

Huff. In searching for the will, I examined the papers in that 
desk, where I had reason to know she had placed it, and there I 
found a packet of letters from Hobart Town, with the inscription, 
in her writing, " To be destroyed,'' and I was about to obey, when 
a sentence caught my eye and arrested my hand. I read the let- 
ters and found they were from Mrs. Wilson's brother — the last 
dated eleven years back, which was the time when your aunt 
came from India, on the loss of her husband. 

Bernard. Bringing me with her. 

Huff. He may be dead ; let us hope so. 

Bernard. Poor fellow ! — hope so ? 

Huff. I say it advisedly ; for by his letters I find he had dis- 
graced his family, and was paying the penalty of the law. 

Bernard. Do you mean to say 

Huff. I do. 'Tis a painful thing, but this is not a time to con- 
ceal such a fact, therefore we must ascertain if he still lives. 

Bernard. Certainly ; but as you say, let us hope he's been 
hanged. 

Huff. I said no such thing. 



MIRIAiXrs CRIME. 21 

Bernard. Well, let my uncle's ghost arise from its penal settle- 
ment, and take his-moiety. 

Huff. 1 must tell you, my dear boy, though I place little reliance 
on the fellow's words, in the letter which I alluded to, he seems 
to infer that you are not the nephew of the deceased. 

Bernard. V>\x\. you know my aunt always said I was. 

Huff. At least she never said you were not ; but in the will which I 
drew out, thougli she left everything to you, I now recollect she 
avoided designating you as a relative ; but that says nothing. 

Bernard. And your mare's nest will prove to be nothing; if it 
does not, I don't disguise the fact, I shall be the most miserable 
dog in existence. I shall lose Ellen, perhaps. 

Huff. Ellen ! what Ellen ? 

Bernard. Never mind what Ellen — that's my business. 

Enter Daniel, c.fromi.. 

Huff. Irishman, come there. 

Daniel. I'm not an Irish. 

Huff. Ain't you? you'd better call me a look here, do you 

know of any nook or corner, which I have not examined, in which 
your late mistress was likely to keep a document ? 

Daniel, (c.) What's a document — a toasting fork? 

Huff. (L.) A testament? 

Dan. Oh, to be surely — in the book rack. 

Huff. No! no! — a paper. 

Dan. There's the dust-hole. 

Huff. Pooh ! not a very likely place to find a will. 

Dan. Is it the will of her ye haven't found yet? Why three days 
agone ye'd given it up for lost, as I tould the gentleman as 
inquired. 

Huff. Who inquired ? 

Dan. A mighty quare looking sort of gentleman, as came to see 
Miss West, all alone, the day as Misses died, faix did she. [wipes 
his eyes) 

Bernard. What is his name ? 

Dan. I don't know at all, but he's been several times and crass- 
questioned me on the area steps about whether ye'd found the will. 

Huff. That's strange. Observe me, Irishman ; never answer 
any impertinent questions of that kind. If any one comes again 
on such business show him up. 

Dan. That will I, in his true colors, the blackguard ! 

Exit, C. and R. 

Enter Miriam /ww/ door, r. 2 k., txttircd in juourning. 

Bernard. (R.) Ah, Miriam ! I am glad to find you can leave 
your chamber ; are you better ? 



22 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Miriam, (c.) Yes, yes; I am better, Mr. Reynolds. 

Bernard. Mr. Reynolds '^. Why not Bernard, as you used to call 
me ? Our loss should cement friendship. 

Miriam. P'riendship ! Oh, I have no friend now. 

Huff, (l.) That's wrong, Miss West. As long as you are a good 
girl, you will not want a friend. Though I have asked the ques- 
tion before, allow me to repeat it ; do you know anything of a will 
Mrs. Wilson has made ? 

Miriam. I — sir — I — was not in her confidence to that extent. 

Huffin. You never saw one ? 

Bernard. Every place, Miriam, has been searched, and though 
we know one had been executed, it is not to be found. 

Miriam. Then, Bernard, you — you are master of all! Your 
bereavement forbids me to congratulate you ; but I pray you may 
be happy. 

Huffin. These letters [producing a packet) make it doubtful 
whether he will inherit a penny. 

Miriam, [aside) Ah ! those letters I was to have destroyed ; her 
last request, and 1 forgot it. [sits at table, R. ) 

Huffin. What agitates you.-* 

Re-enter Daniel, q.. from l. 

Daniel. Here's another rapparee about the will business; he axed 
me the same question, and I've brought him up ; t'other fellow is 
with him. 

Enter Scumley, followed by Biles, Q.from l. — exit Daniel. 

Huff. This fellow again ! what do you want ? Mrs. Wilson is 
dead. 

Scum. (r. c.) I know it; we know it, eh, what's your name? 
[nudges Biles) She's dead and buried, so I can't see her; and I 
aon't want to see her, that's more — do we? [to Biles) 

Biles, (l. ) No; she's defunct: that's fact, number one. How 
d'ye do. Miss West? 

Huff. (r. C.) Oh, you know Miss West? 

Biles. Don't you see I do? 

Huff, [to Scumley) Allow me to ask a question before I order 
you out. 

Scum. Allow me to ask a question before I V\z\i you out. 

Bernard, (r.) Impertinent ruf 

Scum. I'm not speaking to you ; you're a mere boy ; I ask this 
hoary adventurer, has Mrs. Wilson died intestate? 

Huff. Why you — you — you imp 

Scum. Don't prevaricate — I know she has ; and I beg to inform 
you that I, being her only brother, proclaim myself her heir — eh, 
what's your name? (/^ Biles) 

Biles. Biles. There's no denying it. 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 23 

Miriam. (R., aside — horrified) Am I in a hideous dream ? 

Bernard. You, my uncle ! 

Scum. Well, never mind that : I don't want to be bothered with 
any relations just now. Eh, what's-your-name ? (/<? Biles) 

Biles. Biles. No, certainly not. 

Huff. You, her brother! Look you, my fine fellow, this kind of 
imposition is not at all uncommon ; any one might walk in, as you 
have done, and make such an absurd assertion ; — any one. 

Scum. But any one couldn't bring in his pocket, such things as 
certificates of birth — letters from the deceased, and other proofs 
which will stop your mouth in ten minutes, my fine fellow. Eh, 
what's-your-name? (/(? Biles) 

Biles. Biles. That's a fact. 

Bernard. Out with your proofs. 

Scum. H'sh ! old wide-awake's going to speak. 

Huff. Wide-awake, sir! I say, supposing it turns out that you 
are the veritable Richard Scumley, it is no credit to you ; for of 
all the 

Scum. Scoundrels, he's going to say. You're a jocular old Joe 
Miller, you are ; however, it seems you heard of me, eh ? I see 
you have expected me — that's comfortable ; don't like taking 
people by surprise. Eh, what's-your-name ? {to BiLES) 

Biles. Biles. Certainly not ? 

Scum, {introducing) Mr. Biles, my legal adviser, [to Huff.) 
After that pleasant interview with you a fortnight ago, I repaired 
to the tavern at the corner, and there I made the acquaintance of 
my legal friend here ; I found him rather the worse for liquor, 
and 

Biles. Pardon me ; I found you in a state of disgusting inebria- 
tion, proclaiming, to the people at the bar, that you were Mrs. 
Wilson's brother, and that some old fogy had threatened you with 
the police. 

Huff. Very creditable indeed. 

Scum. It was more than creditable — it was credible ; and it was 
this gentleman who traced me out afterwards, to give me the 
agreeable intelligence that there's no will to be found. 

Miriam. \^aside) Unhappy girl that I am. What have I done ? 
[retires in agitation, and sits at table) 

Scum. Now, look here ; we're standing and chatting as if it was 
a matter of no importance. Sit down — [to Biles) sit down, 
what's-your-name, you're welcome. 

Biles. Biles. Thank you. 

Scumley and Biles sit in the centre — Bernard andHvFFis stand 
on each side of tliem — Miriam with her face buried in her hands, 
at the table. 

Huff, (r.) Then you proclaim yourself a returned — that is, your 
banishment is ended. You are 



24 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Scum. Exactly — a purified lag. I don't mean to deny that, 
because it is principally through the records of the pohce court, 
that I can prove my identity. But what of that? I've known 
many state prisoners highly respectable ; one smudge doesn't make 
a sweep. Eh, what's-your-name ? {to Biles) 

Biles. Biles. Certainly not. 

Scum. To prevent any further allusions of that kind, I'll just run 
through my history. As a boy I was remarkably clever. 

Huff. I should say so. 

Scum. I evidently ought to have been an engineer; the 
mechanical skill I used to display in analyzing my sister's money 
box without ever being found out was incredible. 

Huff. I can believe it. 

Scum. That sister eventually married a certain John Wilson — a 
fellow with some property, and of a vicious, unforgiving disposi- 
tion ; he never pardoned a little practical joke I played upon him. 
Amongst other accomplishments, I Avas clever with my pen, and I 
tricked his bankers so completely that they actually paid a cheque 
for eight hundred pounds that wasn't his. 

Bernard, (l.) Forgery ! 

Scum. Your sagacity is tremendous. Now, you w^ouldn't 
believe it — my own brother-in-law prosecuted me ; he said it was 
the third time I had served him the same trick, and, though the 
unnatural vagabond had married my own sister, he gave me 
fourteen years in Norfolk Island ; all this happened in Portsmouth, 
from which place I have this morning received a certificate of the 
register of my birth. 

Huff, [aside) The fellow's made me quite sick with disgust, [to 
Scumley) One may easily guess what your future career will be. 

Scum. Mr. — whatever your name is — Mr. Whitehead, we'll say, 
I've done with practical jokes for ever — I'm cured ! Never let me 
hear you again allude to my misfortune. Look how retribution 
has followed the barbarous act of my brother-in-law — he goes to 
India — amasses money — croaks ; so does his widow, and the 
victim — that's w^— the victim walks into all. My hfe would make 
a capital novel, eh, what's your name ? [to Biles) 

Biles. Biles. Capital ; call it the loss of liberty through practis- 
ing equality on one s, fraierftity . 

Huff, [to Scumley) Why, man, supposing it at all feasable that 
you, or anyone else, were Mrs. Wilson's brother; here [pointing 
to Bernard) is a nephew, who has an equal claim. What do you 
mean by " the whole," and such rubbish as that? There stands 
the son of Mrs. Reynolds. 

Scum. And a good looking fellow too ; look, what's your name 
—[to Biles) there stands the son of Mrs. Reynolds ; I don't deny 
the fact ! 

Huff, [rubbing his hands) Oh, you don't? 



A//A'/.IA/'S CRIME. 25 

Bernard. I should think not indeed. 

Scum. Not at all ; but thereby hangs a tale ; Reynolds had two 
wives. 

Bernard. Slanderer! 

Scum. I don't mean two at once — oh, dear no ; he was a wid- 
ower with a baby when he married my sister : the dear babe was 
you, my tine lad. 

Bernard. It bears falsehood on the face of it ! 

Scum. The grown-up babe, or my tale ? 

Huff. Go on, fellow. 

Scum. My sister, Fanny Reynolds, who never had a child, 
proclaimed you as her own — you were such an engaging little 
cherub 

Bernard. I don't believe it ! 

Biles. Oh, but you were — a perfect duck, and when Mrs. 
Reynolds was dying, she made a solemn request to sister Wilson, 
that, if possible, you should never know but that you were really 
her son. 

Miriam, {at back) Ruined ! 

Bernard. But all this talk is no proof — proof, sir, is what we 
want. 

Scum, [rising) It strikes me that proof is what you doft t want ; 
for I won't be long before 1 make a clear house of this. If I accept 
my sister's fortune I'm not bound to adopt her pensioners. 

Bernard. Insolent scoundrel ! 

Scum, {to Bernard) Why, you half-fledged vulture, baulked in 
your prey, you thought you were quietly going to walk into the 
whole heap, did you 1 Grief for the loss of a supposed relative 
would better become you than mercenary spleen — look at me ! 
{takes out his handkerchief and affects to shed tears) Eh, what's-your- 
name ? 

Biles. Biles. Poor dear woman ! {weeps) 

Huff. Proof of your identity, sir — proof! I demand proof! 

Scum, {showing papers) I'll allow you to read these documents, 
and I've also a witness downstairs to throw some light on that dear 
boy's history. 

Huff. Then come into the parlor. Bernard, come with us ; we'll 
look well into this. 

Bernard, {aside) I anticipate the worst — poor Ellen ! 

Scum. It's a heart-rendering duty for me, but I'll soon prove 
that I'm the unfortunate heir to the whole lump. Eh, what's-your- 
name ? {to BiLEs) 

Biles. Biles. The whole lump. 

Huff. This way, sir. [going) 

Scum. Innocence and right will triumph ; I shall very soon be 
monarch of all I survey, my right none will dare to dispute, eh, 
what's-your-name ? 



26 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Biles. Biles. Cowper. 

Exeunt Huffin, Bernard, Scumley and Biles, c. and L. 

Miriam. Ruined him ! utterly ruined him I thought to serve. 
Wretched wicked girl that I am ; the secret on which I prided 
myself as the sole guardian struggles for release, and if I confess 
it, will they believe me — will the confession right him ? It cannot ! 
My guilty love has been turned into a weapon of destruction, and 
I endure all the maddening remorse of guilt. The man whose 
lightest word was a charm, will hate — will curse me. Had I only 
concealed the will — but 'tis destroyed — destroyed for ever — no 
hope ! Too late I know the crime of rashness, and dare not even 
seek for counsel, {m despair — wringing her haiids) I'd pray to die, 
but could not die in peace, knowing the fatal injury I'd done him. 
What should I do? What should 1 do? The offended spirit of my 
lost benefactress has pronounced a malediction on my disobe- 
dience ; poor Bernard ! 

Re-enter Bernard, c. pvm l. 

Bernard. 'Tis too true : question it as we will, I see 'tis true, and 
I am a beggar ! [throws himself into a chair, R. ) 

Miriam. (L. c, after a pause) Bernard! 

Bernard. Miriam, my dear girl, we can sympathize with each 
other now ; we are equally poor and friendless. 

Miriam. Bernard ! 

Bernard. Yet no ; there is no comparison in our wretchedness ; 
you expected nothing ; and yoM—you do not love ! You don't know 
what it is to be thwarted in the wish to bestow happiness on one 
who is dear to you. 

Miriam. Ah ! do I not ? 

Bernard. You have talents by which you may gain a livelihood 
— I have none. I would emigrate, but I cannot leave her! Oh, 
aunt ! or you whom, at least, I regarded as my aunt, if you had 
only secured me against absolute want 

Miriam. Bernard, your words will drive me mad! 

Bernard. True; I have no right to distress _)/(7Z^/ you have always 
been a good, kind girl, and go wherever you will, I trust you will 
be happy. 

Miriam. Don't — don't say that! I never ought — I never can 
be happy again. Bernard, do not curse me : I will confess all : — 
I — / destroyed the will ! 

Bernard, [starting up) What? 

Miriam, [falling at his feet) Burned it ! I found it in that desk 
a few minutes before Mrs. Wilson's death. She had left all to me 
— except a small annuity for you. I thought, indeed I did, Ber- 
nard, that if no will were found, you would inherit all, and I thrust 
it in the flames — alas ! I have ruined both you and myself— don't 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 357 

forgive me ; I couldn't bear it, but tell nie it I can do anything, 
even to the sacrifice of my life, to repair the dreadful wrong. 

Bernard. I can scarce credit my liearing — you burned the will, 
that I might inherit all ? 

Miriam. Can anything be done ? 

Bernard. Miriam ; if you speak truth — and I have never had 
reason to doubt your lightest word — if you speak truth, and wish 
this secret to die with us, as sure as we stand here, I will never 
utter a word of it from this time ; but what can be done to remedy 
the error, I know not. Huffin only could instruct us. 

Miriam. Then tell him — tell him ; don't spare me ! To make 
some atonement, and see you no more is all I pray for. 

Bernard. Huffin is coming. Think again, my girl. May I tell 
him.? 

Miriam. Yes ! Yes ! 

Enter Huffin, c. from l. 

Huffin. (l.) I fear there is no doubt of the unfortunate identity, 
or of the circumstances of your birth. I really do not feel justified 
in turning the fellow out of the house. 

Bernard, {crosses to C. ) Huffin, there was a will. 

Huffin. I know it; but if it is not forthcoming, it might just as 
well have never existed. 

Bernard. There was a will of which you knew nothing, leaving 
all to Miriam ; she — she destroyed it, thinking by that act to make 
me the heir. 

Huffin. Absurd ! preposterous ! what rigmarole is this ? You 
had better call me a fool at once. 

Miriam, [crossing to C.) Oh, 'tis true, sir; I took it from that 
desk. 

Huff, (l.) Eh ! Who were the attestors to the will? 

Miriam, (c.) I don't know. 

Huff. Who was the appointed executor? 

Miriam. I didn't notice. 

Huff. What was the solicitor's name ? 

Miriam. I never looked ; I burned it as soon as I discovered the 
import. 

Huff. Miss West, pardon me if I disbelieve the whole of your 
statement ; the tale is most improbable. If you have been guilty 
— aye, criminally guilty enough to destroy a will, I doubt not it 
must have been that drawn out by myself What your motive 
could have been, I don't know ; but you have placed yourself in 
a most serious position. 

Miriam. Oh, sir I I have told the truth. I also found a letter 
addressed to myself, which determined me upon the rash act. 

Bernard, (r.) A letter from my — from Mrs. Wilson. 



28 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Huff. What were its contents ? 

Miriam. I — I cannot tell you ; don't ask me. 

Huff. Then again I say, I doubt you ; excuse me — I always 
come straight to the point. 

Bernard. If ' tivas the will named by Huffin which you 
destroyed 

Miriam. And you too ! You doubt me ? Oh, Bernard — Ber- 
nard ! is not my punishment in seeing this sad result heavy 
enough, but I must bear the imputation of such dreadful motives? 
I have no convincing words — they fail me at my utmost need. 
You look upon me — both, yes both — you look upon me as a plausi- 
ble adept in falsehood — worse ; as one who has perpetrated a 
crime for some wicked purpose — do you not, Bernard, do you not ? 

Huff. You were acquainted with this officious fellow who is with 
Scumley, wern't you? Why was he in private conference with 
you on the day of Mrs. Wilson's death ? 

Miriam. He forced himself into my presence. I scarcely ever 
recollect to have seen him before. 

Huff. Why did he come ? 

Miriam, He professed regard for me ; I rejected him. 

Huff. All this you know is very suspicious ; and when you assert 
there was a letter addressed to you by Mrs. Wilson, which you 
cannot produce 

Miriam. 1 burned that too. 

Huff. Indeed ! And you refuse to name the contents ? 

Miriam. No! though 'tis painful, I see I must disclose them, 
Mrs. Wilson stated that she bequeathed her property to me, think- 
ing that it might lead to a union between me and Bernard. 

Huff. And you objected to that ? 

Miriam. Yes, sir. 

Huff. But it was not compulsory ? 

Miriam, No ! 

Huff. Then, in the name of merest probability, why destroy the 
will, eh ? I am sorry that the good opinion I have always enter- 
tained should be so suddenly reversed ; but I cannot possibly 
credit your statement, 

Bernard. But /do ; I have some reason to see the probability. 

Huff, [to Miriam) Then what was your real motive in burning 
it? Now that's coming straight to the point. As for the desire of 
making Bernard the heir, that's a stretch of magnanimity beyond 
my comprehension. You could not have done more if you had 
loved him, 

Miriam, [with eyes averted— after a pause) I did ! 

Bernard. Miriam ! 

Miriam. Had 1 yesterday been offered the option of death or 
this avowal I would have preferred death ; but the suspicion of 
having wilfully ruined him is more than I can bear, and it is in 



MIRIAM '.s (^ RIME. 29 

utter desperation that I cast aside the modesty of concealment, 
and brave tlie shame of my secret. 

Huff. I begin to understand. Then you thought this was a 
surer way to secure his hand, than by adopting Mrs. Wilson's 
scheme ? 

Miriam. Sir, sir, you wrong me more than ever ! Deal with me 
now as you will, I have nothing more to disclose ; but do me the 
mere justice to believe I would sooner have married the poorest, 
all forsaken wretch — aye, even my greatest enemy, than Bernard 
Reynolds. 

Huff. Why so ? why so, eh .? 

Miriam. He loves another. (Bernard crosses at back to R.) 

Huff. But here you had the opportunity of taking him away 
from 

Miriam. Mr. Huf!in, as you are a father, don't insult me ! Had 
I not heard my own heart tell me it is less unlikely that the sun 
should shine at midnight, than that under this condition I would 
ever become Bernard's, do you think I wolild in his presence, 
have now scandalized my sex, and confessed my weakness? 

Bernard, [comincr down L.)Ordo you think, Mr. Hufifin, that I — 
/, Bernard Reynolds, own so despicable a spirit that 1 would have 
abandoned a girl 1 love for a lure in the shape of competence? 
Suspicion may be carried too far ; absurdly so. 

Huff. Heyday ! I've got you both on my shoulders now, have 
I? you'd better call me a fool at once. I have expressed my 
opinion of matters, and I feel that I have no right here as affairs 
now stand. As to this myth of a will, I don't believe Mrs. Wilson 
was even acquainted with a solicitor besides myself; but if — I say 
ify there was one employed, no particulars can be learned, until he, 
or the witnesses are discovered ; and with that information, for 
which I make no charge, I bid you good-bye, and go home. 

Exit, C. and L. 

Miriam. What is to be done ? 

Bernard. Surely we can discover the solicitor. I will adver- 
tize. 

Enter Daniel, c. from L. 

Daniel. If ye please am I to obey them rapparees below ? and 
are they my masters, or are you, sir? they sent me awhile ago for 
a bottle of brandy — sorra's the drop they give me — and now they 
want me to get another. I'm thinking there's one on 'em got the 
liquid squint in his eye already. 

Bernard. I must go to this Scumley and see if I can get him out 
of the house. Exit, C. and l. 

Daniel, [caiiing after him) If I'm going to have the likes o' them 



30 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

for my masters, I give you a month's notice that I'll lave imme- 
diately — that will I ! Exit, c. and l. 

Miriam. He does not hate me for the past ; generous Bernard ! 
Could I do some service to his cause, I'd ask no other happiness ; 
but now, degraded as I am in his sight, for I have at once con- 
fessed my crime and my love, I would that oceans were between 
us. 

Enter BiLES, rather tipsy, Q.. from L. 

Biles. Can I come in ? Biles 'specfully asks if he can come in, 
on business; I'm going to make an invention — I mean an inven- 
tory — begin with this room. If you've got any personal property, 
Miss West, point it out; Biles says, "point it out." {taking out 
book and pencil) One table, one scoal cuttle 

Miriam, (r.) Oh ! do not proceed with this at present. 

Biles, (l.) I mustj for the s'curity of my employer, the heir — 
ha, ha! 'sense my iDeing joc'lar in business, but "the heir!" 
who'd have thought it? I say, allow me to thank you, my lady, 
for 'fusing my hand ; I should have been 'stensively taken in ; I 
thought you would have a fortune. By-the-bye, 'tween ourselves, 
when did mother Wilson "stroy that will ? 

Miriam. What will ? 

Biles. Why, the will leaving you everything. 

Miriam. How came you to know of it? 

Biles. That's a good 'un ! why I and Davis were witnesses ; my 
master, now defunct, drew it ; I 'gross'd it. 

Miriam, Ah ! what was his name? 

Biles. Don't trouble yourself, he's dead. It was at the time 
when Mother Wilson sent you down to Brighton for the benefit of 
your health. My master called upon Mrs. W. 'specting a house 
purchase, and she asked him if he was ca'ble of drawing out a 
will; he did it — firs'rate. I rec'lect all the circ'stances ; the old 
will was given to me to go down stairs and burn, because there 
was no fire here, and — [aside) Hold on, hold on, Biles, my boy! 
when you've had a drop of brandy you're so 'fernally talkative ; 
it's un'fessional, sir — hold your tongue ! [writes) Six writing desks 
and one chair. 

Enter Bernard ^^^Scumley, c.from l. 

Scum. What do you mean ? I — I, the lawful heir to everything, 
leave this house? No, sir, eject me as you can ; here I remain. I 
shall see an inventory made of everything, though I dare say 
you've made away with a pretty good lot already; but here I 
remain to keep watch and ward over my own. You can remain 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 3 1 

too, if you like, 'till I have administered ; but no one else. As for 
that girl, I'll bundle her out in less than an hour ; she has no right 
here. 

Bernard, (r. ) You surely are not such an unmitigated brute 

Scum. (l. c.) Ain't I .? {to Miriam) Now, madam, put up your 
traps, and call a cab. {goes up to Biles) 

Miriam. (R. c.) Where am I to go ? I haven't a friend in the 
world. 

Bernard, [aside to her) Yes, you have. You must not remain in 
this house with these ruffians ; you must take a lodging, Miriam, 
'till something is done. 

Miriam. I know of no one who will receive me. 

Bernard, [giving her a card ) Here is the address of Mrs. Raby 
— a good, kind soul as ever lived. 

Miriam. No, no, Bernard, not there ! 

Bernard. Ah, I forgot; but I fear I know of no one else. 

Miriam, [aside) Why should I not go there ; am I so weak ? [to 
Bernard) Bernard, forgive me ; I will go to Mrs. Raby's. 

Bernard. I have not behaved well to you, Miriam ; I know it 
now. But come, I will assist you at once to leave this ill-tenanted 
house, [going) 

Biles, [up c.—to Bernard) If you have any inchnashe to that 
young lady, un' stand me, you're perfec' welcome. Biles gives her 
up. 

Bernard, [flinging him aside) Keep your place, dog ! 

Exit with Miriam, c. andi.. 

Biles, [reeling against Scumley, who pushes him off) That's 
polite. Gov'nor, did you notice that 'sault? 

Scum. (L.) Bah! served you right. 

Biles, (c.) Well, I shall s'poena you. A 'spectable witness goes 
a great way. 

Scum. I won't go a step for such tomfoolery. 

Biles. I said 'spectable witness. 

Scum. I shall get a respectable solicitor to transact my business ; 
not a drunken pettifogger's fag, like you. When you've made an 
inventory, I shall pay and discharge you. 

Biles. Why, you ungra'ful fellow ; didn't Biles look up this luck 
for you ? 

Scum. Shouldn't I have heard of it in due time without any of 
Biles's officiousness ? Don't dare to bandy words with me. 

Biles. Now my monkey's up — Biles's monkey's up ! I can be 
ill-tempered as well as you, and say things quite as unpleashant. 

Scum. You ! fool ; what can ^ou say ? 

Biles. I can say this, that unless you share half of everything 
with me, you shan't be in possession a month ; what d'ye think o' 
that? You'll find Biles difif'cult to get rid of. 



32 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Scum. What? You contemptible scarecrow, who's to put me 
out of it ? 

Biles. This child — Biles ! Nobody can do it but Biles. 

Scum. Then I'll soon make that all right! {seizes him by the 
throat) You scoundrel ! 

Biles. Murder! 

Scum, {releasing him) Ah, true ; there's some law against that. 
(Biles //a^r^j' the table and chairs betiveen them, R.) 

Biles, (r. ) This is your gra'tude, is it ? Now, look here ; there's 
a will in 'zistence giving all to Bernard Reynolds ; I know where 
to put my hand upon it ! 

Scum. You're lying ; you know you are, and I've a great mind 
to 

Biles. Ah, would you? lying am I? we shall see. Now, look 
you, I didn't mean to tell you so soon ; but as we've begun, it's as 
well now as any other time. The whole of the property must be 
valued, and I must have fifty pounds down, and a legal 'signment 
of one half of all the rest, or I'll make the best bargain I can with 
Reynolds. What d'ye say to Biles ; yes or no? 

Scum. No, you infernal raven — no ! 

Biles. Very well; tha's un'stood. 

Enter Bernard, c. from l. 

Bernard, (l.) What's this uproar? Are you not ashamed of such 
indecent conduct ? 

Biles, (c.) Mr. Reynolds, a word with you ! What would you 
give 

Scum, [to Biles — drawijig him across to r.) It's all right, you 
fool ; I was only joking with you. 

Biles, (r.) Your joking is so like a choking. You agree ? 

Scum, (c.) Of course I do. Come, let us be friends ; after all 
you're a man I respect, for you are really respectable ; you're one 
of my sort — shake hands ! 

Bernard, [aside) There's some villainy here ! 

Scum, [aside) Let me get hold of the will, if there is one, and 
I'll cut his throat before he shall have the money, [turns to Biles) 
All right ! we're men of honor, my boy, and will act as such. 
Shake hands, what's your name? 

Biles. Biles ! (Scumley shakes his hand extravagantly) . 



CURTAIN. 



MIRIA.\r\S CRIME. 33 

ACT 111. 



Scene. — A neat but humble apartment in a lodging house ; door in 
fial, L. ; a practicable window, R. 2 E. {backing represents roop 
of opposite houses) ; fire-place, c. flat; table, R. ; chairs distri- 
buted, on which are bandboxes ; in the comer of the room, R., are 
a trunk and a large japanned deed box, which latter is almost 
hidden by Miriam's bonnet and mantle. 

Miriam is discovered seated on sofa. 

Miriam, On the world ! how terrible a sentence to the weak- 
spirited ; how trivial to the self-reliant — " on the world ! " Heed 
not the straws which float by in your struggle through life's troubled 
waters — expect no aid ; believe in your own strength, and swim 
on ! 

Enter Mrs. Raby, door in flat. 

Mrs. R. Good morning, Miss West, have you slept well? 

Miriam. I have not slept. 

Mrs. R. I am sorry for that ; I know these apartments are not 
what you would like, but you took me by surprise ; to-morrow you 
can sleep in my daughter's room, she has left town. 

Miriam. Thank you, Mrs. Raby, my apartment is well enough ; 
it was not that disturbed my rest, but I had many thoughts 
which 

Mrs. R. To be sure, to be sure, miss; the loss of your kind 
friend Mrs. Wilson must have been a great trial to you. And it's 
quite true I suppose, that Bernard Reynolds won't get a shilling ; 
what will become of him ? As 1 told Ellen, I'm quite sure //(? can't 
earn a hving for himself, and with his extravagant habits 

Miriam. But he has accomplishments, talents which — but pardon 
me, 'tis not my place to talk of him. 

Mrs. R. He said he should be here this morning ; 1 may be out 
of the way ; will you kindly give him this note ? [hands a note to 
Miriam) Ellen left it for him. 

Miriam. I— give it to him? Yes, place it on the table, if you 
please. (Mrs. Raby puts note on the table, r.) 

Mrs. R. Of conrse you W have to get your own living now, miss ; 
well, all I can say is, don't take to letting lodgings, or you'll get 
let in for it. Why, the scamp as those two boxes ( pointing) belong 
to owes me forty pound, and he was recommended to me by 
Scrivener, my lawyer, who's dead and gone, and I've no redress ; 
but he shan't have his boxes till he has paid me. I dare say 
they're not worth, with all that's in 'em, five pound, but that's 



34 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

neither here nor there ; he doesn't have 'em. I'll take them out 
of this room by-and-bye. miss, if they're in your way. 

Miriam. No ; not at all. 

Mrs. R. Well, as I was saying — don't let lodgings and don't 
take to teaching music as my Ellen does ; it's poor work for any 
one as has been brought up a lady and known better days, which 
my daughter has — which you well know, miss ; and as for figure, 

why there's a great sculptor as is doing her bust {a knock at 

street door) There's a double knock. [Hstening) My girl never 
hears the door. [^Kitatdoorinjlat.callmgasshegoes) Bridget, 
don't you hear the door ? You always give me the trouble of com- 
ing down when I'm, &c., &c. {voice dying away in the distance') 

Miriam. I must rouse myself from this lethargy — exertion ! exer- 
tion ! I must not be a burden to any one. If I could forget the 
ill I've done, no task would daunt me ; one waking remorseful 
dream has haunted me the whole night — poor Bernard ! (a tap at 
door) Come in. 

Enter Bernard at door in flat. 

Bernard. Well, Miriam, we know the worst now — all is verified. 
Fortune, like a skilful pugilist, instantly follows one severe blow by 
another, {sits Q.) I'm down. 

Miriam, (r. c.) Don't look so wretched, Bernard ; I can't bear 
to see it. [takes letter) Here is something that may cheer you. I 
know 'twill please you. 

Bernard, {looking at it) Oh, here it is ! I had a message last 
night which prepared me for it. {reads the letter) Just so. Miriam, 
I always used to make you my confidante ; read that letter, {hands 
her the letter — Miriam is reading it) and tell me what you think 
of your sex. There's a good deal of the tennis ball about me — lots 
of reaction and all that ; but that's calculated to take the rise out 
of me, isn't it? 

Miriam. She discards you because you have not inherited your 
aunt's property. 

Bernard. That's what it means evidently. I'm thrown off like a 
split glove. ■> 

Miriam. And this too, is my doing ; a curse must have been on 
me, Bernard. 

Bernard. No — no! I don't see it in that light. I needn't tell 
you, that after receiving a significant rebuff last night, I didn't 
sleep a wink. 

Miriam. I am your bane. 

Bernard. Nothing of the sort. I couldn't sleep, but I thought a 
good deal, Miriam. I reflected whether the girl's love was really 
worth possessing, which was too evidently built upon worldly 
interest ; then I thought oi you 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 35 

Miriam. To hate me. 

Bernard. Not in the least — to contrast what, with such a nature 
as yours, your conduct would have been under such circum- 
stances ; and I came to this conclusion, that had you been in her 
position poverty would not have made you desert me — would 
it? 

Miriam. I don't know ; I seem to myself to be all that's 
wicked. 

Bernard, {taking her hand) lam sure you would not; so you 
see the cruelty of one has not made me a woman-hater ; but I feel 
it — I feel it. 

Miriam. Cruel girl ! 

Bernard. She is. Well, I went on thinking and thinking, and I 
think came to a most singular way of thinking ; for what do you 
think 1 thought ? 

Miriam. I cannot tell ; but I judge from your sad look. 

Bernard. Sad look — nonsense ! It's a change that's coming 
over me ; I'm in a transition state. This is the conclusion I came 
to, Miriam, that in all probality I shall see, when a few years have 
passed over, that all things have happened for the best, 

Miriam. Impossible, Bernard ! 

Bernard. Had I married this girl, and afterwards discovered — 
as I should have done — that my prospects had been the tempta- 
tion, I should have bade farewell to domestic happiness for ever ; 
consequently I wrestle with my infatuation, and wlien I have con- 
quered it, I've no doubt I shall find I've had — yes, I won't mince 
it — a lucky escape. 

Miriam. And you have the courage to think so ? 

Bernard. Oh, I'm a greater hero than I thought myself. Listen, 
'• Now," thought I, "this would have been number one of the con- 
sequences of my coming into property ; number two would prob- 
ably be that I should have squandered it, and soon have been no 
better off than I was before." And then I began to reflect what a 
locust in the land 1 have been, waiting for the death of a good old 
soul to give me the means of livehhood ; the idea of a man going 
through life without being able to fight his own way — disgraceful ! 
But look you, Miriam, I'll do it ! She shall see me competent to 
achieve competence yet; I'm no longer Bernard Reynolds, the 
spendthrift ; I'll be an R. A., or go to China and give lessons in 
perspective to the native artists ; bring out an improved edition of 
the willow-pattern plate ; something I'll do. I'm glad I'm penni- 
less, but I won't be a beggar for all that. I'm stimulated, {^crosses 

to R.) 

Miriam. Bless you, Bernard ; you give me comfort, indeed, to 
hear your words. 

Bernard, (r. C.) But I must not forget ^(7«, Miriam. I've done 



36 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 



you a great wrong, and my mind will not be easy until I can do 
you some service. 

Miriam, (l. C.) Done me wrong? 

Bernard. Yes, I trifled with your affection in mere wantonness ; 
I misled you. As a lover I should have been unworthy, but I'll be 
a friend, Miriam; by Appelles and Sir Joshua, I'll be a friend; 
I'll never lose sight of you. 

Miriam. No, Bernard ; 1 cannot imagine the space so great that 
I would not wish between us. I alone have been to blame, but 
my humiliation has been deep. I cannot — I ought not to speak 
more on this subject ; let us regard it as a dream from which I have 
awakened to blush at and forget, 

Bernard. Mirry, you're a good girl — and I hate that old croaker, 
Huffin, for doubting it. 

Miriam. Don't blame him. Appearances are overwhelmingly 
against me ; even you perhaps 

Bernard. If I for a moment doubted you, 'twas but for a 
moment, and I shall never forgive myself for the paltry suspicion. 
No ; I believe you endeavored to make a sacrifice for me which 
no one else on earth would have done. It was an error, but that 
can't be helped. Now I'll step downstairs and see Mrs. Raby on 
the subject of this note. Bless you, my girl. Come, cheer up ; we 
are both young, and youth is not the season for despair. Look at 
me — here's a specimen of twenty-two and fortitude. 

Exit, gaily, door in flat. 

Miriam. Generous Bernard ; your kindness in reality wounds me 
more than would your anger. And can I do nothing to rectify the 
effect of my folly? I'll go to Huffin and tell him what that man 
said of having been witness to the will, {going for her bonnet and 
taking it off the box) perhaps he — [the natne on the box attracts her 
eye) Ah ! that name ! can it be ? Is he then the owner of these 
boxes? A strange thought takes possession of me ; 1 now recall 
that he once said he saved some papers of his master's from the 
fire ; he did not say he destroyed the original will — if it should be 
there ! but no ! no ! the idea is one of despair which clings for hope 
to impossibilities, {sits down and looks at box) Something there 
might be — but him I have made my enemy ; no succour can be 
anticipated there, [pause) Would it be very wicked to try and open 
that other box which looks like one in which deeds would be kept? 
no — 'tis wrong; I will not think of it. {going to door with bomiet 
and mantle on, reaches door and turns irresolutely) Yet surely it is 
my duty to dare anything in his, in Bernard's cause. I will ! I 
will ! I'll try my keys, [takes a bunch of keys out of her pocket, and 
essays to ope7i the box) Too small — this other! Ah, no! this one. 
{tries) Yes, I think — 'tis opened, [looks in) Yes, writings — deeds — 
{takes out bundles of papers) I fear detection — I'll put them back ; 
at night I'll search, {as she hastily replaces them, a will drops on the 



MIRIAM S CA'IME. 37 

Jloor, which she does not observe) The hope no doubt is idle, but 
still it is a hope, {^locks the box) I'll go and — what is this? {picks up 
the will at her feet) " Will and Testament of Elizabeth Wilson I 
Ah! am I dreaming? this is too good a fortune to be real; 'twill 
kill me if untrue, [opens it and glances at a sentence) •' Bernard 
/Reynolds residuary leiratee — executor John Hujfin^^ I'm sick and 
overpowered, yet I dare not call for help, [sinks on the floor) Oh, 
this is folly — Bernard is here 1 1 must not delay his happiness for 
a moment, [rinj^s bell) I choke ! I suffocate — if I could but weep! 
The prayers of my sad sleepless night have been heard, and all is 
accomplished by a miracle — 'tis nothing less ! 

Enter Mrs. Raby, door in fat. 

Ask Bern — Mr. Bernard Reynolds to come up immediately. 

Mrs. R. He's just this moment gone, miss ; can't have got farther 
than the cornei". I had a certain party in my back parlor to speak 
to me, so Mr. Reynolds went away, and said he'd call in an hour. 

Miriam. I'll overtake him ; which way did he turn? 

Mrs. R. Either to the right or to the left; no, I think he went 
down the street opposite. 

Miriam. Not a moment is to be lost. 

Exit, hurriedly, door in fat. 

Mrs. R. Something important, by the hurry. It strikes me 
somehow she has a sneaking regard for him. Well, she's welcome 
to him if she can get him. My daughter, I'm happy to say, has 
washed her hands of the young gentleman, and what's more, taken 
my advice and written to accept Mr. Huffin's offer, which he made 
a month ago. A well-to-do old man must be better than a penni- 
less boy, and my Ellen is a lady tit for any society. 

Enter BiLEs, door in flat. 

Biles, (l.) Mrs. R., I've been waiting very patiently to speak to 
you. I'm tired of paring my nails in your back parlor, and as I've 
heard people go out, I conclude by this time you are disengaged. 

Mrs. R. (r. C.) Well, Mr. Biles, what have you to say to me? 
Have you brought me any money ? You've kept me out of it long 
enough, and remember full half of it was borrowed. Shame on 
you to rob a poor lone widow. 

Biles. Mrs. Raby, keep a guard over that libellous tongue of 
yours ; " rob " is a significant word — hurtful to the feelings of an 
honest man. Biles doesn't relish it. Biles can't allow it. If Biles 
had the misfortune to get into your debt, he left security in your 
hands which 

Mrs. R. Security ! Two trumpery boxes, containing, I daresay, 
nothing but old trowsers and waste papers, and as to misfortune — 
intemperance is j(7//r misfortune ; you might have done well enough 
if you hadn't been addicted to such habits. 



38 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Biles. Such reproaches cannot be allowed from the kettle to the 
pot. 

Mrs. R. How sir, you infer 

Biles. Infernal what? Don't descend to abuse, Mrs, R. I wish 
to take away one or two of the waste papers, and I'll just open one 
of the boxes in your presence. 

Mrs. R. No, you don't. You don't touch one till I've had my 
money — forty-three pound five shillings. 

Biles. I see the boxes there. You can't prevent me. 

Mrs. R. Can't I ? I'm a poor lone woman ; but I'm a lady 
bred and born, and you shall find I can take my own part if I'm 
put to it. Don't attempt to move one step towards them. 

Biles, [^aside) She's a tigress when she's up ; I know her of old. 
Well, Mrs. R., I came to offer you ten pounds on account ; here 
it is. {offering bank notes) 

Mrs. R. If there's any thing in those boxes worth ten pounds, 
I'll risk it, and keep them as they are till I get my forty-three 
pound five shilling. 

Biles. You're acting illegally ; allow me to explain the law. 

Mrs. R. Do ! and I'll explain possession — which is nine points 
ofit! 

Biles. I'll give you twenty pounds if you'll allow me to open one 
of them. 

Mrs. R. Noiv I'm sure they're worth my money ; forty-three 
pound five shillings. 

Biles. Now, Mrs. R., you're a woman of uncommon sense, and 
know there's no getting Ijlood out of a stone. 

Mrs. R. My common sense tells me that if the stone will bleed 
at all, it will bleed a good deal. Forty-three pound five shilUngs, 
if you please, Mr. Stone. 

Biles. Well, I've no time to waste. There, you hard-hearted, 
man-eating, lodging-house keeper; there's your money, and mind 
you prepare a proper stamped receipt for it while Clarkson Biles 
opens his chest. 

Mrs. R. Clarkson Biles is a nice article to make so many bones 
about paying a poor lone widow her due, when he'd got it in his 
pocket all the time. I'll give you your receipt as you come down ; 
you must make haste, for my lodger may be coming back directly. 

Biles. Let him come ; Biles knows how to apologize like a gentle- 
man. Now, you be off! 

Mrs. R. {aside, as she goes out) Well, this is a windfall ; I never 
expected to get this. Exit, door in flat. 

Biles, (r.) All goes on swimmingly ; but I must be cautious — as 
cunning as a fox ; that fellow Scumley is a queer customer to deal 
with, and if he were once to get this will in his hands before I get 
my share of the estate secured, I might whistle for my chance ; 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 39 

lor' bless me, he'd destroy it in a moment; but I haven't allowed 
him to get the smallest scent of the place where I've got the docu- 
ment, and I'll make it secure enough now. Now for it. {takes out 
a key and opens the box) Here's a lot of rubbish! {bundling out 
papers) It was a lucky thing for me that I didn't destroy that will 
— 1 don't know why the deuce I didn't — and it was a lucky thing 
for me 1 saved this identical box from the fire ; I don't know why 
the deuce 1 did ; it was fate ! Fate had predestined Biles to be a 
capitalist — where the devil is it? I thought it was at the top — no, it 
must be at the bottom : Mother Raby has been tossing this box 
about ; everything's reversed. 

Enter SCUMLEY, silently, door in flat — leans over the back of arm 
chair, c. , and watches. 

Ha, ha! if that rascal Scumley had only known where I had it, 

he'd have been here before me, and Oh ! what do you want 

here ? 

Scum, (c.) Why, considering that you got fifty pounds out of 
me, and not having much opinion of the honesty or honor of the 
world in general, I kept my eye upon you ; in other words, I 
dogged you to this house, and not seeing you come out of it, I 
introduced myself to the landlady as your elder brother, and the 
good soul sent me up to assist you. 

Biles, (r.) Well, then, you may go down again ; the will's not 
here. 

Scum. What are all those papers ? 

Biles. Nothing at all to do with your business ; be kind enough 
to leave me, 1 can't attend to you just now. 

Scum. Well, I'm glad to see there's some appearance of your 
not having deceived me. The will is amongst those papers ; now 
don't deny it, because you'll only force me to come and search 
them myself. 

Biles, {barricading himself with the table aftd chairs) If you come 
near, I'll open the window and shout for the constabulary, {takes 
his keys and quickly opens the other box) Look here — yes, this is 
what I wanted, {takes out a large horse pistol) This is what we 
used to keep in our strong room at the office; I used to sleep there 
when there was any property to protect. I know it's charged, I 
loaded it myself four years ago. Now I'll look over the papers, 
but you keep where you are, or I shall be compelled to pick you 
off. Do we understand each other ? 

Scum. Do you take me for a rogue ? 

Biles. I see we understand each other, so I'll go on with my job. 
[searches) I've examined those — not there, nor there, {taking all 
out) 'Tisn't here ! it's gone — gone — gone ! 

Scum. What's that.? 



40 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Biles. It's not here, I tell you ! 

Scum. So you said before. None of your tricks upon me, or 

Biles. Can't you see I am in earnest? I'm robbed — I'm robbed! 
it's gone ! 

Scum. [leaj)s over the table and seizes hitn) You scoundrel ! will 
you dare to play upon me ? I'll 

Biles. Don't, don't! I'm in earnest; I — I can't find it — I'm 
ruined ! Give me time to think ; I'll swear it was there. 

Scum. I'll look myself, [searching papers) 

Biles. I hope you may find it. [a pause) 

Scum. No — no 

Enter Miriam, door in fiat — Biles 5^<?/;/^ her, utters an exclamation; 
rushes across a?id places himself between Miriam and the door, as 
she is about to retreat. 

Miriam, (c.) What are you doing in my apartment? 

Biles, [up, L.) Ah! you hear? }%r apartment — she has it ; she 
has taken it ! 

Scum, (r.) Bolt the door! (Biles bolts it) Have you opened 
this box ? 

Miriam. Why should you think so ? 

Scum. Have you opened this box? 

Miriam. Why, sir — do — you — ask ? 

Scum. No prevarication ! You have, it's plain 

Biles. As the nose on my face. 

Scum. Where's the paper you took out of it ? 

Biles. Where is my paper that you've stolen ? 

Scum. Give it up ! 

Biles. To me I to me, mind ! Give it me, or 

Miriam. You terrify me ; I haven't got it. 

Scum. I see by your manner you have taken it. I am not a 
man to be trifled with! [takes up the pistol) Give up that paper 
this instant, or I'll blow you into eternity ! 

Miriam, [falling 07i her knee) Don't murder me ! 

Biles. Search her, search her; search everywhere! [they each 
seize her, she screams) 

Bernard, [without) Open the door! 

Biles. Who's that? [iAiKiKm again screams, the door is broken 
open) 

Enter ^^-^-^kkh, followed by HuFFiN — Bernard rushes to Scumley 
and throws him <7^^-Huffin tackles Biles — Mrs. Raby appears 
at back. 

Bernard. You cowardly vagabonds ! 

Mrs. R. [at back, c.) What a disreputable scene in a reputable 
house ! 



MIRIAM'S CRIME, 4 1 

Scum, (l.) She has robbed this man ; picked his lock. 

Biles. (C.) I had a will in that box, which I intended to take this 
morning to Mr. Reynolds, fori knew he'd reward me handsomely ; 
and my friend there got exasperated when he found the girl had 
taken it away, and it was all that I could do to protect her from 
his violence. 

Huff. (R. c. ) You expect me to believe that? You'd bettercall 
me a fool at once. 

Scum, {aside) There's a lying rascal ; I'll owe him a turn, 
[ahiid) 1 believe that will to have been a forgery. 

Huff. I must be a fool if I can't swear to my own signature. 

Biles. Oh, then you have got it ? 

Huff. Yes, sir, Mr. Reynolds met me and placed it in my hands; 
and your friend may get back to Norfolk Island as soon as he 
likes. 

Scum. Nothing of the sort ; I'm no canting ticket-of-leave-man. 
I've served my time, and my character is now unimpeachable, 
you old fool ! 

Huff. He's done it — he's called me a fool at once ! 

Mrs. R. (r. c.) About this will — who comes into the property 
then? 

Biles, (c.) What's that to you ? Keep your place, woman. 

Huff, [crossing to Biles) This lady will be my mother, fellow, 
and I'll thank you to address her respectfully. 

Bernard, (l. C.) Oh! indeed? 

Exit Mrs. Raby, with dignify, door in flat. 

Scum, (l.) I'll have this will affair thoroughly looked into. 

Huff. We'll take care of that. 

Biles. Yes, we'll take care of that. I can prove how and when 
I saved it from the flames on purpose to serve Mr. Bernard, know- 
ing he would reward me liberally. 

Huff. Hold your tongue, sir. 

Scum. Come I don't want to put you to expense in contesting 
this ; if Mr. Reynolds will give me three thousand, I'll relinquish 
all claim. 

Huff. And /his lawyer! you'd better call me a — oh, I forgot; 
you did. Not a penny piece will you get from us, you unprincipled 
disgrace to the family. You have no claim. 

Biles. My learned brother is right ; you have no claim. 

Scum. I shall claim the right of knocking you down, if you 
interfere between me and my reladons. You have swindled me 
out of fifty pounds. (Biles ^^d'A behind the door) 

Huff. Which you raised on certain chattels from Mrs. Wilson's 
estate, and for which, if you show your nose there again, we shall 
claim restitution. 

Scum. I shall go and place my case in the hands of some respec- 
table solicitor. 



42 MIRIAM'S CRIME. 

Huff. Do, some Old Bailey lawyer. ' 

Scum. I feel that I am wasting my time in talking to such an old 
ass. At any rate, if my half-nephew does not behave handsomely, 
I'll pubhsh our relationship, and my antecedents; what d'ye say 
to that ? Good day. [as Scumley is going out, he sees Biles through 
' a crevice in the door, which opens on to the stage, he returns a7id 
gives him a blow on the head — exit ScuMLEY, door iJiJiat) 

Biles. He's gone ; I've much to be thankful for. 

Huff. Miss West, I must ask your pardon for my suspicions. 

Miriam. No, sir ; all seemed to confirm them. 

Huff. Possiijly, Mrs. Wilson might have made a will in your 
favor. 

Biles. That she did ; my late employer, Mr. Scrivener, drew it 
out, and I was one of the witnesses ; I hope you'll remember that 
fact; a httle liberality on your parts would be the making of 
Biles. 

Bernard. I know you to be a rogue ; but still as this circumstance 
has proved so fortunate, I shan't forget you. 

Huff. Nor must you forget to do something for this girl ; she 
must not be cast upon the world without a shilling. 

Bernard. I owe all to her ; and if she will accept the love — for I 
do love her now, of one, who will no longer be the worthless 
unthrift he has been, it will be the festival day of my life, when, 
as my wife, she consents to share with me the property, which has 
been so unexpectedly recovered. 

Huff. Stop, stop, stop ! I hope that Miriam has too much good 
sense to allow you to marry her. 

Miriam. Let no gratitude for questionable heroism be mistaken, 
Bernard, for love ; if I ever on false grounds, indulged in a hope, 
I have bitterly felt the humiliation and punishment. Live wisely 
and happily, and all that is past will be forgotten in the one joy of 
seeing that accomplished for which I rashly ventured so much. 

Bernard. Dear Miriam, the humiliation is mine ; but as sure as 
I believe in the solemn record of a vow — I love you. I can have 
no happiness unless you consent to be mine. 

Huff. She won't, she won't ; or I know nothing of her character. 

Miriam. If I again err, may forgiveness follow, as it has done 
my other faults. Bernard, I do consent. 

Huff. You do ? Then you've made a fool of me at once, [to 
Bernard) Upon my word, I must question the respectability of 
your connexion ; decided dark colored sheep. Your putative uncle 
is a returned convict, and your wife will be a lady who does not 
hesitate to destroy a will 

Biles. Or pick a lock. Excuse me ; it's only our fun. Biles 
and his learned brother [pointing to Huffin) are humorous fellows, 
but the right sort. 

Bernard. Miriam's were innocent crimes, and bless her for them. 



MIRIAM'S CRIME. 



43 



Miriam. Will all look upon me with the lenient eye that you do? 
{to audience) Can a right motive justify a wrong act? Dare you 
say *' no! " you, who in your kindness so ever slow to censure — 
so ever quick to encourage, give such an example ? Our immortal 
bard has taught how few of us can escape in the mere course of 
justice. Mercy we look for — and at your hands. 



HUFFIN. 
R. 



Miriam. 



Bernard. 



Biles, 

L. 



CURTAIN. 




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AN OLD PLANTATION NIGHT. 

PRICE, 25 CENTS. 

A musical and dramatic entertainment for four male and tour female characters, 
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ACTOR'S MAKE- '7'— 7™^ 

«i fra*tical and Systetnatic Guide to the Art o/ Making «/ ^or the Stag*. 



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